


Connor's Creed

by Phsbarbie



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Literature, Romance, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phsbarbie/pseuds/Phsbarbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the war over and Connor back on the homestead, is he finally ready to settle down? Or will his duties as an assassin always hold him back?</p><p>Chapter 3 is explicit</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my very first story featuring an OC. It takes place after the events of Assassin's Creed 3. I think when Connor found someone he wanted to be with he'd approach it with the same determination he does everything else. Mixed, of course, with some awkwardness since he's never done this before

   I catch sight of her at Myriam's wedding while I'm walking her down the aisle. It's all I can do to keep my feet moving.

    "Myriam," I whisper to her as we walk.

    "What is it Connor?" she responds out the side of her mouth.

    "Who's that woman in the back? The one in the blue dress?"

    "Connor, it's my wedding. I'm not looking at anyone but Norris."

    "Right, sorry," I say, escorting her the rest of the way and handing her off to Norris. I take my seat and exert all my will in an attempt to remain facing forward. When the wedding is over and everyone is filing out of the chapel she's suddenly gone. I actually panic for a moment before remembering I'm an assassin, I can find anyone I'd like. What's wrong with me? I've never had much interest in the opposite sex before, I've always thought of them as more of a distraction. Perhaps it's different now that the war is over, my people have moved on, and my biggest responsibility, aside from the Brotherhood, is taking care of our homestead. 

    Or maybe it's just that I've never seen another girl like her. She had dark brown hair worn in waves down her back, and a complexion just a touch darker than Myriam's, though still much lighter than my own. Her heart-shaped face was complimented by big blue eyes and a spattering of freckles across her pert little nose. She was petite- she couldn't have been much over 5'1 to my 6 foot- and if I never see her again I will always carry the imprint of her in my mind.

    It's hours later before I finally find her again. She's laughing and being spun around the tavern yard in a dance with someone I don't recognize. Not that that's uncommon today, people are in from all over to attend the wedding. I grab Ellen as she walks by my seat in the corner, the one with the best view of the dance floor.

    "Hello Connor, what can I do for you?" she asks.

    "Ellen, do you know who that girl is?" I ask, pointing to the one in question. Ellen is one of the few people who isn't surprised by my lack of small talk, as I very rarely attempt to make any. A smile spreads across her face.

    "Has a young lady finally peaked your interest, Connor?" she asks, turning to see who I'm pointing at. "Quite a woman you've chosen there. That's Big Dave's niece, here for an extended visit."

    "Her name?"

    "Mahayla, I believe it was." I stare at the girl in wonder for a minute. Mahayla. What a beautiful name. That moment ends when her partner takes her by the hips once again. Mine, I want to growl. Where did that come from?

    "You know, you could always go cut in, introduce yourself," says Ellen gently. I shake my head slightly, trying to loosen the sudden intensity I've been gripped with.

    "Thank you for the suggestion, Ellen. Have you seen Big Dave?" I ask.

    "Yes, he's in the tavern having a drink."

    "Thank you," I say, heading immediately in that direction. I spot him by the bar with Lyle and make a beeline for him. "Dave, I would like your permission to marry your niece." He spits his ale out.

    "Slow down Connor. I wasn't aware you and Mahayla had met. Have you talked to her about this?" This is the part where thinking things through would have helped me considerably. Achilles was always saying I spend far too much time acting and far too little thinking. 

    "I haven't spoken to her yet. At all, actually." Big Dave laughs.

    "You might want to introduce yourself before proposing marriage, boy. In fact, here's your chance now." I turn to see Mahayla walking towards us on the arm of her dance partner.

    "Uncle David! There you are. I was just telling Amos here," she raises her eyebrows at Big Dave and tilts her head slightly, "that I couldn't possibly accept his offer of a second dance, that my uncle and guardian would find it quite inappropriate. Amos then so wisely suggested we come see you so he could plead his case in person." Big Dave draws himself up to his full height and seems to suddenly exude animosity. Mahayla drops Amos's arm and takes a step back, leaving him to face Dave's wrath alone.

    "Is that so? And what makes you think I should risk my poor young niece's reputation on the likes of you?" Amos seems flustered. 

    "I merely thought, she being a woman grown-"

    "A woman grown is she? Tell me Mahayla," he says, not taking his eyes off Amos, "how old are you now? 16? 17?"

    "23, Uncle," she chimes in from behind him.

    "So you are, so you are. But to me," he says, leaning in close to the man that's begun to sweat, "she'll always be 17. Are we clear?"

    "Yes, of course, Sir. My apologies," says Amos, hastily making his escape. Dave waits until he's made it out of the tavern before bursting into laughter. 

    "My, my, Hayla. You certainly know how to pick 'em!" he says, turning around to face us. She rolls her eyes.

    "I accepted a single dance and couldn't be rid of him once it ended. Although, that part about me being 17 forever was genius. Thank you."

    "Anytime my girl, anytime. Now, there's someone here I'd like you to meet," says Dave, turning her towards me. Her eyes travel from the top of my head over every inch of my body to my feet before making their way back up to my face.

    "A pleasure to meet you, Mr...?"

    "Kenway, Connor Kenway," I say, taking her outstretched hand in mine and shaking it.

    "Connor then," she says with a smile. "I'm Mahayla Waltson." There's a spark of interest in her eyes that gives me courage. 

    "Mahayla, would you care to dance?" A bit of mirth enters her eyes.

    "You know, I think I very much would." But before she can slip her arm through mine, Big Dave interrupts. 

    "That sounds like a wonderful plan, but they're about to throw the bouquet. You should go catch it."

    "The bouquet Uncle? For an old spinster like me?" she asks, exaggeratedly.

    "Old my left arse cheek. Off with you girl!" he says, pushing her towards the door.

    "Fine," she sighs. "And Connor? I look forward to our dance." She sends me a smile as she walks out the door. My own hopeful smile is still firmly in place when Big Dave clasps an arm around my shoulder. I stiffen slightly. No matter how long I've lived around white men I still don't feel comfortable with all the touching.

    "Connor, let's have a talk, shall we?" he says as he guides us towards a table. "I believe what you should be asking me is for permission to _court_  my niece. Permission I never planned on giving to anyone. But you Connor, you I'll make an exception for. I know you to be an honorable man, and will give you my blessing, but that won't be enough by itself. The girl has a mind of her own."

    "I believe that is just the kind of woman I would appreciate," I say. Big Dave breaks out in a grin.

    "I agree. And I look forward to watching this play out. Now then, I believe I hear the band starting up again. You should go claim that dance before another man asks her for it." I get quickly to my feet and stride towards the door, hearing Dave's laughter behind me.

    I reach the yard in time to see Mahayla attempting to fend off yet another man I don't know. He doesn't seem to want to take no for an answer. The voice inside me growls mine, and I don't question it this time. There's something there that wants to don warpaint and threaten this man with a tomahawk, but I settle for a menacing glare.

    "Is this stranger bothering you?" I ask as I come to a stop behind him. If Mahayla is intimidated by the look on my face she doesn't show it, she simply smiles up at me.

    "As I was saying, Clement, I've already promised this dance to another," she says, gesturing to me. Clement turns to see me and gives a look of disbelief.

    "Him?" he asks, incredulously. I cross my arms over my chest.

    "Yes," replies Mahayla, sidestepping him and taking my arm. "Him." I escort her to the line of dancers and try to focus on not making a fool of myself. Catherine and Diana have been teaching me dances for years, whenever they could get a hold of me for more than a minute or two. I remind myself to thank them later as the smile on Mahayla's face tells me I can't be doing too bad a job. I find I'm even enjoying myself. By the time the music stops we're both out of breath and I don't believe I've ever smiled so widely in my life. That is, until I see Clement waiting for us to leave the dance floor. Mine. 

    "Mahayla, would you like to go on a walk with me? I'd be willing to bet you haven't seen the manor house yet, and I'd love to show it to you." Her eyes light up.

    "That would be wonderful, Connor," she says, slipping her arm through the one I offer. I smile down at her as I lead the was to the main road that runs to the manor, which just happens to be in the opposite direction of any prospective dance partners.

    "Thank you," she whispers to me.

    "For what?" I whisper back.

    "Saving me from another ill wanted suitor." I smile at her.

    "It is my pleasure."

    "Connor!" calls a panicked voice behind us. I turn to find Terry running towards us at full speed. "Connor! My eldest boy is missing! Last anyone saw of him he was heading in the direction of Norris's mine."

    "I'm sorry," I say to Mahayla, releasing her arm. "I have to go." Her face falls slightly but she nods. 

    "Of course you do. Go, I'll be fine."

    "Can I call on you tomorrow?" I ask. She looks surprised.

    "Call on me? I... I suppose so, yes."

    "Good. Terry, go get Godfrey and Big Dave. I'll head towards the mine now, meet me there." I break into a run, concerned for the boy and yet filled with happiness. She said yes.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor continues his awkward courtship of Mahayla

   I try to keep myself busy all morning since I don't think you're supposed to call on a woman as the sun rises. But then again, I have no idea. I can assassinate a Templar from 100 feet with a dart, escaping before anyone's the wiser, but I don't know how to court a woman. If I still lived among the Mohawk I would ask my mother to speak to her mother on my behalf. Of course, my mother's dead and her's isn't in the vicinity, so those customs still wouldn't help me. Is this so hard for everyone? I suppose I did help Norris court Myriam, but theirs was a rather nontraditional courtship. 

    Flowers! Prudence said to bring flowers. Perhaps Mahayla will appreciate them more than Myriam did. And if she doesn't? I run my hands through my hair, feeling the soft stubble where it's started to grow back in. And if she doesn't... then I'm sure to discover enough about her today to do better the next time. And if that doesn't work either I can always spy on her. It worked for Norris. I climb to the spot Prudence said produces the best flowers, picking at least a dozen before heading back to Dave's smith. He sees me coming up the path from his spot on the anvil and waves.  


  
   "Hello, Big Dave," I say a bit awkwardly. "Is, uh, is Mahayla here?" He has a wicked grin.

  
   "Of course Connor, just a moment. Mahayla!" he calls into the smelter he keeps in the workshop behind him. "Someone here to see you!"

  
   "Tell them to go away!" responds a voice. Big Dave nods his head in that direction and I walk cautiously towards it. "I need to get this ore smelted before Connor gets here." I approach the counter to find Mahayla with her back to me, dressed in blacksmith leathers. "It wouldn't do for him to see me like this right away," she mutters to herself. "I'll ease him into it. Maybe he'll like me enough that he won't care about my smithing." I'm pretty sure I got the flowers wrong, but I'm forming some better ideas for next time.

    "Um, Mahayla?" I say hesitantly. She spins to face me so fast she's nearly a blur.  
  


    "Connor! I, uh, I wan't expecting you until this afternoon." Her face looks slightly panicked.

    "Am I too early?" I ask, a bit panicked myself. "I've, well, I've never called on anyone before." I think she forgets to be worried as she gives me a pleased smile. 

    "You haven't?" I shake my head no.

    "You're my first... everything, I guess." She spies the flowers in my hand before I can hide them.

    "Are those for me?" she asks, reaching for them.

    "Yes, they were," I say, giving them to her. "But it's okay if you don't like them. I'll do better next time," I blurt out. She looks at me like I've gone mad.

    "Don't be silly! They're beautiful, why wouldn't I like them?"

    "I just thought..." I trail off, gesturing to the workshop behind her.

    "A woman can have unusual hobbies and still enjoy a beautiful bouquet. Come on," she says, opening the gate for me, "let's go put these in some water. Uncle Dave!" she calls over my shoulder.

    "Yes, Hayla?" he says, coming over with a grin on his face.

    "Don't 'Hayla' me, you could have at least warned me it was Connor here to see me."

    "Come now girl, where would be the fun in that?" he responds.

    "Can you finish this up for me? I need to put these in some water." She heads through the kitchen door without waiting for a response. Big Dave raises an eyebrow at me.

    "Flowers, is it?" I can feel myself blush.

    "Yes, Prudence recommended them."

    "Prudence is a wise woman. Go on with you," says Dave, turning towards the smelter and leaving me to follow Mahayla into the kitchen. She's already arranging the flowers in a vase.

    "I want you to know that if you had come this afternoon you would have found a very different Mahayla Walston waiting for you," she says over her shoulder. I smile.

    "Is that so?" I ask.

    "Oh yes," she says, moving to wash the soot off her hands. "One who was properly dressed, with her hair styled just so, patiently waiting for your call."

    "Then I am glad I came by this morning," I say.

    "Are you?" she asks, turning to face me and looking surprised.

    "I am, for I find I like the Mahayla in front of me far better than the one you just described," I reply, though I have no idea where my momentary confidence is coming from. Perhaps it's inherited. She rewards my speech with a smile.

    "Well, aren't you full of surprises?"

    "No more than you, it seems," I say, gesturing to her outfit.

    "Yes, well, why don't I get changed and you can take me to see that manor on the hill. We can talk about it on the way." She's gone and back in a moment, in a walking dress and sensible shoes. She slips her arm through mine, even though I forget to offer it to her, and we start off down the road. 

    "So, Connor," she says, "would you be offended if I asked what tribe you're from?"

    "Not at all. I'm from the Kenien'keha:ka."

    "The Kana- Kania-" she attempts. I chuckle.

    "Also known as the Mohawk."

    "Mohawk. That I can pronounce. Are they a local tribe?"

    "They were; they moved west nearly a year ago. I've lived here since I was thirteen though, so this homestead is the only place I call home. What of you? How long will you be visiting?"

    "It's an extended stay, no end in sight," she says. "As you saw this morning I'm a blacksmith, one who is always trying to increase her knowledge. Unfortunately, there aren't many master smith's willing to teach a woman their secrets. After yet another one turned me away, my father suggested I write to my Uncle David as he's a rather renowned smith himself. He accepted me with open arms, and, between all the mischief he causes, is teaching me quite a bit." She pauses, and I feel as if this is some sort of test.

    "That seems like a very useful skill to have," I say. She smiles up at me. It appears I've passed. 

    "It is, and I'm glad to see another recognize it. So, what of you? From what I hear you aided the Patriots during the war. What are you dedicating yourself to now?" The Brotherhood flashes across my mind, but it's definitely too early to introduce that subject.

    "I've decided that my time is best spent on the homestead, helping it to grow and protecting it from any outside threats," is my response instead.

    "Sounds like a noble cause," she says. I give a short laugh. 

    "I don't know how noble it is, but this is my home. I want to see it protected."

    "As well as the people on it," she says pointedly. "I've heard the stories of how you've saved each of them in one way or another. Sounds pretty noble to me." I blush faintly from her praise. I hope it isn't noticeable.

    "Not noble, simply human. Seeing another suffering when I can help them... it's not something one should ignore," I explain. She turns her bright smile on me once more.

    "And modest as well. If only all men were so... civilized." I give a short laugh.

    "It won't be any time soon that men will look at me as any more than a savage," I say as we approach the manor. She stops and pulls gently on my arm, causing me to turn towards her.

    "Then those men are wrong," she says, softly but firmly. I'm at a loss for words. She smiles at me, taking pity on my tied tongue. "Well now, are you going to show me the manor, or are we to stay in the courtyard all day?" I take her through the manor, trying to show her how civilized I can be. She exclaims over the oddities I've collected, admires the trophies I've claimed, and beats me soundly at Nine Men Morris. I find I enjoy her company even more today than I did yesterday, and escort her home only reluctantly.

    "Well, I suppose this is me," she says as we reach Big Dave's front door. "I had a marvelous time, Connor."

    "Mahayla?" I say, stopping her from turning the door knob. "May I call on you again tomorrow?"

  
  
    "Yes, you may. And if you'll wait until the afternoon I can even introduce you to the other Mahayla I told you about,"  she responds with a cheeky smile.  


    "Then I shall be sure to come in the morning, for I like this Mahayla just fine," I say, the smile on my face feeling awkward from its general disuse.   
  


    "Goodnight, Connor."

    "Goodnight Mahayla." I head towards the mines, whistling a tune. I have an even better idea for tomorrow's gift.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor is losing his customary cool... but it looks like Mahayla is too

   "Goodnight Connor," says Mahayla, hesitating at the door. Grab her! growls the voice inside me. Make her yours! It's getting harder and harder to quiet him these days, the Mohawk warrior that lives just beneath the surface of my skin. I realize that's just another part of me, but it's one I've always been able to keep firmly on the battlefield, and away from my life on the homestead. 

    It's been three weeks that I've been courting Mahayla Waltson, and two and a half since I started finding my own release by hand after I escort her home each night. I find I've never been more desperate for anything in my entire life than I am for her. Patience, I caution the voice. Norris courted Miriam for years before anything came of it. Though even as I try to calm that part of me I wonder how it could be possible to wait that long when my whole body burns for her. If you rush her you'll lose her, shouts the only part of my brain not consumed with lust. I take a deep breath.

    "Good night, Mahayla," I say, taking a step back. She gives me a smile before going inside, but her eyes are tinged with disappointment. Could it be she dreads our parting each night as well? Perhaps it won't take years. Perhaps I can ask for her hand in six months time. The voice inside me growls. Too long. I sigh as I head into the woods, planning to take the long way home. I hope the fresh air will clear my head, and if that fails I can always do a bit of hunting to placate my more savage side.

    I've been in the woods less than ten minutes when I hear a twig snap behind me. Before my foolish follower can even blink, I have them up against a tree with my dagger to their throat. I feel the blood run hot through my veins and allow all the anger and frustration I've been feeling to show. The sight that greets me, however, isn't a scowl to match my own. It's a pair of big blue eyes, staring up at me in a widened state of shock. Mahayla.

    I quickly lower my dagger and take a step back, cursing myself silently. Any hope I had of six months is extinguished. I'll be lucky if all it takes is a few years after this incident.

    "Mahayla?" I ask, trying not to panic. "What are you doing here?"

    "I was... I was following you," she says, though the look on her face now is more nervous than fearful.

    "Why?" I ask, confused. She bites her lip, hesitating for a moment, before stepping towards me, wrapping her arms around my neck, and pressing her lips to mine. 

    I freeze for a moment, unsure of what to do, of how to react, before the thin thread I had on my control snaps. I pull her hard against my body and step forward so she's pinned against the tree once again. I groan as she opens her mouth beneath me and slips her tongue into mine. My hands run down past her breasts to her hips, holding them in place while I press my aching cock against her. I break from her lips and press rough kisses across her jaw and down her throat, pausing when I reach her neckline. 

    "Hayla, is this your first time?" I manage to ask through my gasping breaths. She hesitates for a moment before meeting my gaze, her delicate chin raised in defiance.

    "No," she says without shame, "it isn't." I let out a sigh of relief.

    "Good, because it is mine and I don't think I can be gentle," I say, lowering my head to the small amount of breast she has exposed in this dress. She gasps as I run my tongue along them.

    "You-you don't care?" she stammers out. I look up at her and can feel the fire sparking in my eyes.

    "At this moment I am grateful for your past, though it would be safer for whoever was involved if you did not tell me his name."

    "Right," she says, closing her eyes and dropping her head back against the trees as I drag my lips along her collar bone. "That's... probably a good idea," she breathes, arching her back. I waste no time in wrapping my arms around her and feeling for the laces on the back of her dress, returning my lips to her neck as I do. I'm so wrapped up with trying to untie them, I barely notice her undoing the clasps on my assassin's robe. She unfastens the last one, then runs her soft hands up my stomach, past my chest, and over my shoulders, attempting to slide the leather off. I don't help. I have a job for my hidden blades first.

    "How attached to this dress are you?" I ask her, a desperate undercurrent to my voice. She looks confused.

    "Not very."

    "Good," I say, releasing the spring on my hidden blade and slitting the back of her dress open. She inhales a sharp breath, but doesn't seem afraid.

    "That seems like a useful tool to have," she says, a touch of curiosity in her voice.

    "It is," I say, capturing her mouth roughly with mine once more. I shrug off my leathers, letting them fall to the ground behind me, then pull her body flush against mine. I'm hoping to feel her warm skin next to mine, but feel only cloth. If my hidden blades weren't already on the ground I'd cut that damn dress to shreds, but I settle for pulling it down to her waist and pushing it over her hips. I'm nearly salivating at the thoughts of finally being able to caress her breasts, only to find she's still as covered as she was with her dress on.

    "Sacred Spirits, how many layers are you wearing?" I ask in frustration. She's biting her lip to hold back a smile. 

    "Only four more."

    "Four?" I ask in disbelief. 

    "My undergarment, my shift, my petticoat, and my stays." I move to pull my dagger out of my breeches, but she stops me. "Don't even think about cutting the stays. I only have two pair."

    "I promise to buy you a new one," I say, swallowing her protests and slitting the uncomfortable looking garment up the front. I push her shift off first one shoulder and then the other, and she assists by slipping her arms out of it, letting it fall to her waist. Her breasts are high and firm, and I want to drop to my knees and bury my face in them. I settle for taking them in my hands, weighing them and running my thumbs over her nipples. 

    Mahayla closes her eyes and moans, the sound of which has the blood racing even faster through my veins. Take her now! the voice yells, and for once the rest of me doesn't object. I make a promise to myself to make love to her slowly later, but at this moment I need to be inside her. I slit one side of her petticoat's waist, causing the garment to join her dress and stays in a pool at her feet. 

    "Connor," she says with a breathless laugh, "you really must stop cutting my clothes or I won't have any left." I don't respond, but slide her shift over her hips to the ground instead of destroying it. She smiles. "How civilized of you."

    "Civilized is not in my vocabulary tonight," I say in a low voice. She pushes off her underwear, taking a step out the stack of garments at her feet and into me. Her arms go around my neck, her bare chest pressing into mine, and a shiver runs through my body.

    "Promise?" she whispers. Before she can take another breath I have her laid out on the forest floor, my soft leathers forming a blanket beneath her. I drop to my knees, planning to quickly cover her body with mine, but before I can she's on her knees as well, reaching for my breeches. 

    "Hayla," I say, warningly, but she just gives me a wicked smile before popping open the button and wrapping her hand around my hard as iron cock. I throw my head back and groan as she works her hand firmly up and down. When I feel her plump, soft lips wrapped around the head I nearly plunge myself into her mouth. Instead I have her on her hands and knees in front of me with my cock positioned at her wet opening before I realize what I'm doing.

    "Mahayla," I say, hesitantly, "is this-"

    "Connor, if you don't take me now I think I'm going to die." I pull her back against me and push forward at the same time, sheathing myself completely. Her head drops to the ground and she whimpers my name. I pull my shaft almost completely out of her before pressing back into her, over and over again until I feel her inner muscles start to clench, increasing the friction between us.

    "Connor," she manages to say through her heavy breathing. I slip a hand around to where we're joined, looking for a small nub and putting pressure on it once I find it. "Connor!" she screams as she comes apart around me. I feel myself tipping over the edge, pressing into her harder and faster. I lean over her until my mouth is at her ear.

    "Mine," I growl at her in my native tongue. "You are mine." I spill myself into her and fall to the ground next to her, exhausted. She turns into me, placing a hand on my chest and her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her and stare up at the stars, feeling completely content for the first time since my mother died.

    "Marry me, Hayla," I say, running my fingers through her hair. She's silent for a minute or two before propping her head up on my chest with her arm.

    "What's your real name, Connor?" she asks. I smile at her.

    "Ratonhnhake:ton," I say. She pauses for another moment before responding.

    "Hake:ton and Hayla Kenway," she says, a smile forming at the edges of her mouth. "Sounds like a perfect match to me." I pull her down to me and kiss her fiercely. Mine. "Now then," she says when we finally come up for air, "since you shredded all but my shift we need to figure out how to get me back to Uncle Dave's house unseen."

    "Why do you need to go back to Dave's house?" I ask, confused. "Come back to the manor with me. We can be married in the morning." She laughs.

    "Slow down, Connor. We can't get married tomorrow."

    "Why not?"

    "I think my parents might at least want an invitation to their only daughter's wedding." I take a deep breath and let it out. Right. Parents. Waiting. More waiting. "Although," she continues, pressing a kiss beneath my ear, "I think I will take you up on that night in the manor." I have my pants on and fastened, Mahayla's shift over her head, and her in my arms, walking towards the manor in under 30 seconds.

    "I love you Connor," she says with a laugh.

    "And I love you, Mahayla."


	4. Chapter 4

    I love the forest on the homestead. The sun trickling through the leaves on the trees, leaving dancing patterns of shadow and light on the ground. The wind swaying in the branches, the deer who are rarely aware of my presence. It's a place of peace, a place of tranquility. 

    At least, it is most days. Today the air is full of the sounds of my betrothed's cursing.

    "Son of a whore!" she explodes as the knife misses even the edge of the target by 6 inches. 

    I chuckle, the sound of it surprising myself. I can't help it really. The words coming out of her lovely mouth would put half of my initiates to shame. It's such a far cry from the Mahayla Waltson she's always trying to present, the one she meant for me to meet the first time I called on her. 

    I like her better this way.

    Hayla hears me laugh and turns to me with a glare. I quickly mold my face into an expressionless mask, one that should be easy to make after years of practice. I find that it's not. 

    In the month since I asked Mahayla to marry me there's been a near constant smile on my face. It feels foreign without it. Not that it matters much right now. Hayla sees right through me. 

    She gives me a disbelieving look. "Connor Kenway, do you truly expect me to believe that the laughter came from a bird passing over head?" I will my expression not to change and she sighs. "What's the point of this, Hake:ton?"

    Her use of my native name makes me shiver, as it always does. A fact she knows and is now trying to use to her advantage. Clever woman. 

    "Why do I need to learn this? I've seen you with a dagger," she says, her eyebrows raised. She's referring to the night I asked her to marry me, when she followed me into the woods and I _accidentally_  held her at knife point. "You're good enough for the both of us. I'll keep forging the weapons and you can keep using them."

    The point, of course, is that I won't always be around. I travel, on occasion, on business for the Order. I hunt in the woods, farther away than a scream could carry. I won't have the Templars tracking me down here and hurting her instead. 

    But Mahayla knows nothing about this. She has no idea she's to marry the mentor of the Assassin Brotherhood, or that Templars even exist. I know I should tell her, and I will, but... Hayla is the one thing in my life I've ever had just for me. I can't lose her.   
      
    "The point, Hayla," I say, walking over to her, "is that you forged these daggers." I take one from her and attempt to bend the blade, failing of course. "You smith some of the best weapons I've ever seen, and yet you can't use one yourself."

    She's realized her charm isn't going to work and she's back to glaring. I try not to laugh again, limiting myself to my now familiar smile. Big Dave warned me she was a woman with her own mind. 

    "Think of it this way," I offer, "this is the opposite of my disapproving of your smithing."

    Her eyes narrow at me. She grabs back the dagger with a huff and turns back to the target.

    "You can do this," I tell her. "Picture it in your mind, the tip of the dagger piercing the straw."

    Mahayla refocuses on the target, a determined look to her face, and let the dagger fly. And it hits! Granted it's the very edge of the target and it falls to the ground almost instantly, the force behind the throw not enough to make it stick, but it hits. 

    Hayla squeals in delight and launches herself at me, her arms going around my neck. "Did you see that, Hake:ton? I did it!"

    Her enthusiasm is contagious and I chuckle. "Yes, you did."

    I lean down to give her a kiss but am interrupted by a voice behind me. 

    "I had no idea this is how you were handling training these days, Connor."

    I turn instantly to meet the intruder, shoving Mahayla behind me, but breathe a sigh of relief. It's only Dobby. Then the thought registers. Damnation. It's Dobby. 

    "This one doesn't look like she's any good, though," she continues. "Might have to cut her loose." Her tone is not friendly.

    "Connor," says Hayla, peeking out from behind me, "who's this?"

    "Deborah Carter," cuts in Dobby aggressively. "And you are?"

    I can already tell she's made a judgement call about Mahayla. Going by the dress, the poise, the complete lack of fighting skills, Dobby's judged her a standard lady, easy to intimidate. Dobby's wrong.

    "Mahayla Waltson," she says, stepping forward and giving me a push out of her way, "his betrothed."

    Dobby stiffens, her gaze turning to me. "She's your what?"

    I open my mouth to answer but Hayla doesn't let me. "His fiance, his intended, his bride-to-be," she states, not giving an inch. I may be the warrior, but she definitely has the warrior's spirit. 

    Dobby's eyes are glued to me. She looks to be in shock. " _This_  is why you haven't checked in for nearly two months? I thought things had gotten busy here on the homestead, I came today to lend a hand." Her voice is rising in volume and she looks... betrayed. "You promised me, Connor! You promised when you were ready to be more than just an assassin, to have a family, _I_  would be the first to know."

    "Dobby-" I start, but she continues on as if I haven't spoken.

    "But I wasn't, was I? _She_  was. And she can't even throw a damn knife!"

    I glance towards Mahayla to get an idea of how far she is from me in case Dobby snaps and tries to attack. I find her standing stock still, ignoring Dobby all together, her eyes focused on me. 

    "Assassin?" she asks, her tone indecipherable. "Did she just say you're an assassin, Connor?"

    "You haven't told her?" asks Dobby, disbelievingly.   
      
    I close my eyes and shake my head slowly. 

    "He's not just an assassin," she tells Mahayla, "he's the mentor of the entire order in the Colonies."

    I don't want to open my eyes. I don't want to see the fear wash across her features. I should have explained all this to her before, tried to get her to understand. I fear it's too late now. 

    When I do open my eyes, though, it is to find that I, too, have misjudged her. There is no fear in her expression. There is anger, betrayal, hurt, but not a touch of fear. 

    "That's what this weapons training is really about, isn't it? So I can defend myself against any of _your_  enemies that come after me?" She turns on her heel and strides away.

    She only gets a few steps before I grab her arm and turn her around. "Mahayla-"

    She shakes me off angrily. "When where you planning on telling me, Connor? After the wedding? The birth of our first child? Or never at all?"

    "Hayla, I-"

    "I trusted you!" she explodes. "I told you my secrets, every last one, and I thought you'd told me yours as well."

    "I couldn't lose you," I say, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. "I couldn't take the chance that you wouldn't understand. I love you, Mahayla."

    She shakes her head and takes a step away. "If you had just _told_  me, you wouldn't have lost me. But now... now I think you have."

    She storms off and this time I don't try to stop her. I watch her figure retreat through the forest.

    "It was bound to happen sooner or later," says Dobby from behind me.

    "Leave, Dobby," I say, still staring after Mahayla.

    She falters. "Connor, I-"

    "I said, leave!" I yell, turning to face her with fire in my eyes.

    She seems surprised, shocked even, that I'm yelling at her. I worked hard under Achilles to calm myself, to keep my temper under control, but that doesn't mean it's gone. Any control I have over it seems to have snapped.

    Dobby nods once and leaves, disappearing back the way she came. I turn back to Mahayla but she's out of sight, probably half way back to Big Dave's by now, canceling wedding plans. Perhaps even packing to return to her parents. 

    I've lost my mother, my father, my mentor, and my tribe, but right now, at this very moment, I've never felt so alone. 


End file.
